


Captain's Rest

by derekstilinski



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Bath Houses, Bathing/Washing, Established Relationship, Hankcon Mermay 2020, Human Connor (Detroit: Become Human), M/M, MerMay, Sailing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:21:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27067813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/derekstilinski/pseuds/derekstilinski
Summary: Captain Hank Anderson and First Mate Connor take a well-needed respite after their latest delivery run in less than calm waters.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 8
Kudos: 61





	Captain's Rest

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of my pieces originally written months ago for Deep: A Hankcon Mermay Anthology. So excited to finally be posting this!! Sana (@bigDBHenergy) was my artist and Bri (@BriWeiCreative) was my beta reader 💗  
> Check out [The Mermay Collection](https://twitter.com/i/events/1259999563940876289) to see more merm-related pieces and more info about this awesome event that I'm so hyped to be a part of 🥰

Northern winds sweep icy through the cobbled streets. An older town, with the majority of buildings sturdy brick and sunbleached wood. The colors are worn but still bright, flags and hanging signs whipping in the wind. The salty air is less harsh further into the town, but here nearer the docks it leaves one ship captain and first mate wishing they’d bundled in heavier coats. The overcast sky looms above still, a storm dissipating slower than anyone would like.

Shaking the cold from his bones, Connor pulls off his glove to drag Hank along faster, “Come on, stop hesitating! This will be good for us!”

With a long put upon groan, Hank picks up the pace on their way down the street. He didn’t want to leave the boat after they’d finished their delivery, but Connor has a way of coaxing him into things. “But I thought I smelled a hot dog vendor…”

“Hank…” he rolls his eyes and squeezes their clasped hands, gathering his lover close under the awning outside a blue painted building. He rubs Hank’s arms more to warm himself up, heat rolling off Hank even in the bitter weather. “You haven’t had much time to stretch your… legs, in a while. I found a nice place, for a little well deserved relaxation.”

Hank’s eyes soften with affection, swaying into Connor’s touch while they stand together. “I know this run has been more rough than others. The storms on the boat and colder waters— I’m never taking this contract again, mind you. And yeah, I’m achey, but—” he shrugs, giving a sigh, “I’m more worried about you.”

“A runny nose after being pelted with freezing wind isn’t abnormal for humans, Hank,” he assures, like he has with similar things many times. It’s endearing that Hank worries over him like he does, it makes Connor warm inside. “And… if it helps, this would be great for me, too.”

“It does,” Hank admits, dropping down slightly to push his forehead against Connor’s. The show of affection earns him familiar fingers in his beard, scratching softly through the hairs. “Okay. Alright, okay, I’m game. I’ll go, we’ll go.”

Connor grins with delight. His hand captures Hank’s again and leads him into the building with a carved wooden sign above the door currently being thrashed by a gust of wind. The wash of warm air that hits them is a blessing, the scents of salt and oat and perfume travel in pleasant waves. In the foyer sits a check in desk, before it opens up to what seems to be a lounge. To the right are two sets of stairs, one leading up and the other leading down. Hank appreciates the look of the place, wallpaper a deep royal blue and floors glossy wood. The light is bright but welcoming, it’s a cozy but professional atmosphere.

The woman at the front desk gives a polite smile as they shuffle in, Connor leading with comfort. “Welcome back, Mr. Stern. We’ve prepared a room to your specifications, and if you need anything more, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Hank gives a squint in his direction but Connor just smiles, taking the offered key. “Thank you.”

She gestures to the stairs and Hank lets Connor take him downward. The humidity gets heavier down here, Hank hums curiously as they arrive at another desk. In the room beyond, mostly covered by a large draped curtain, the space opens up into another lounge, only this one is a shallow pool. There’s a few men and women in the steaming water, naked, relaxing while they talk over glasses of wine. As they shuffle across the stone floor, the young man at the desk rises to greet them.

“Ah, let’s see your key here,” he says, checking the ribbon attached to their room key to verify them. He gives a smile and affirmative nod, “Alright, you’re in room four. If you’d like, I can hang your jackets up.”

Connor happily takes his bundle of outerwear off, handing them over to the attendant. Hank does as well, if a little more haltingly. The attendant dips into the room opposite the desk and takes care of the coats, and comes out two robes and small cloth bags, “And I can take your clothes now, if you’d prefer. They’ll be laundered for you and returned to your room.”

“Connor, really?” Hank peers over at his lover, thinking that is a bit too big of an indulgence. He hasn’t had someone do his laundry in… well, he can count on one hand how many times.

“I already paid for the package, Hank. I told them gentle cleansers.” He smiles to the attendant as he takes the robes and bags, letting them be directed to the alcove of a lush changing room. “Come on. You deserve some warm, clean clothes.”

Hank gives a sigh but takes what Connor gives him, and shuffles into a changing room. He’s in there a while debating whether he should fold his clothes, or leave his boots, or what to do with the candy in his pocket. In the end, he bundles himself in the fluffy white robe and takes the bag with his valuables as he steps out. Connor is already waiting for him in his own robe, a little more open to show off his neck and collarbones. He weaves their fingers together while the attendant assures them about their clothes and tells them where to find their room.

“Are you excited?” Connor asks, glancing back at him as they walk barefoot along the warm floor, passing by the lounge pool.

“Honey, I’m not even sure exactly what we’re doing,” he reminds, happy they’re walking past the open pool. “But, yes… Are we swimming, or do they have bathtubs here?”

Connor throws Hank a grin over his shoulder. He doesn’t say anything, only brings them to their room and lets them in. There’s a small sitting area in the first half of the room, with a few chairs and a table. Hank sets his things in the seat of a chair and draws back the frosted glass door, into the secondary part of the chamber filled with steam. 

The stylized pebble stone floor continues here and goes for a natural look, like a rocky ocean tidepool. They’re all smoothed down and to Hank, who knows the ocean well, it’s blaringly manmade. But… charming, in a way. The water is hot and gently bubbling from jets, looking so inviting. Off to the side are jars and a wooden tray set out for them, holding a delicate glass blown pitcher with ice water and wedges of lemon. At the front are two made drinks of amber liquid and a covered bowl, among other bottles and empty glasses. Hank smiles to himself and simply drops his robe, wading into the water.

Connor makes sure the door is closed securely after he sets the ‘occupied’ tag on the outside knob. He settles his bag near Hank’s, then turns to find his lover already getting comfortable. “Well, well…” As he steps closer, the warm tip of Hank’s long iridescent tail wraps around his ankle. “Seems like someone’s in his element now, huh?”

Leaning against the edge, thick arms propped up and the easiest smile he’s worn all week, Hank looks up at Connor in relief. He shifts around in the water, so thankful to be off his aching legs and stretch his tail again. He pulls gently at Connor’s ankle, coaxing him forward, fins brushing against the skin, “Come here, sweetheart.”

“Ah, don’t mind if I do.” Connor makes a show of slipping the knot free from his waist, opening the robe before shifting it off his shoulders. He leaves it on the floor with Hank’s and slides the glass door closed, shaking his head when Hank starts to move to make room for him in the sizable tub. “You relax, I already know where I’m going.”

He wades into the welcoming heat, sighing at the jets that align with his back. He presses his hands to the midsection of Hank’s tail, feeling along the smooth gray scales as he kneads against them. He feels Hank tremble into the touch, wispy fins visibly fluttering at the sensation. “Oh, honey. You’re too good to me.”

“Because you’re good to me,” he hums, “You took all the hard work on yourself, because you were worried for my health. You weren’t able to get into the choppy water, so you got all sore not being able to shift. My strong Hank, such a capable fisherman.”

“Connor.” Hank flushes bashfully, grinning as he turns his head away, “Enough.”

He scoots closer, a hand on Hank’s chest as he climbs to straddle Hank’s tail, “And a considerate lover.”

A funny noise works from Hank’s throat, surprised and pleased and giddy. “Oh.” His hand finds Connor’s thigh under the water, “That’s where you’re going, huh? Buttering me up?”

“Oh, if you’ll let me, Mr. Anderson.” he smiles, leaning over to grab one of the drinks from the tray. The movement brushes their chests and Hank leans in to sneak a kiss to Connor’s collarbone. He takes a sip and hums, then offers the rim of the glass to Hank’s lips, “Working all the tension away, you understand.”

“Boy, do I,” Hank mumbles before he takes the offered sip. He’s surprised to find it’s whiskey but there’s the sweet tang of apple cider. The bite is nice and he wonders what it would taste like from inside Connor’s mouth. So he leans up and takes Connor by the back of the head, and indulgently slides their lips together.

Connor sways further into his orbit like he always does, bracing one hand on his chest while they kiss. He makes Hank keep it chaste, dotting kisses against his lips after giving a bit of tongue. The playfulness of it has Hank’s face breaking into a smile, pressing a smooch to Connor’s stubbly cheek. He could’ve shaved when they came into port, but he skipped off to find this place instead. Hank’s happy he did.

“What are you doin’ to me, huh?” he hums, drawing his fingers down Connor’s back. It leaves a hot trail down his spine, Hank can feel the twitch of his muscles and the faintest hint of bone. He’s gotta get a good meal into Connor soon, maybe after they’re done here. Treat him to somewhere, or bring the food along with Connor back to the boat for round two. He’s an old man, he shouldn’t be thinking about round two before round one, but Connor lights him up in ways he forgot he could.

“Loving you." Connor whispers, wiggling away with a delighted shiver. He lays his hands over the bulk of Hank’s tail, where his thighs held on mere moments ago, and caresses over the scales. A warmth spreads in his chest, settling there like a kindling fire as he watches the glow of Hank’s tail come to life. It always strikes him somehow, that Hank’s body reacts to him like this. It can mean so many things, he’s been told, but it happens a lot when Hank’s feeling safe. Like he knows he can light up under Connor’s hands, trusts Connor to see him.

Hank gives him a gentle kind of look, relaxing back into the smooth rocks. His tail sways into Connor’s touch, languid and easy. So, Connor sits and brings it closer, applying a soothing pressure while he works his hands over the expanse of sore muscle. The sigh and rumble of relief that Hank lets out is so abundantly satisfying. His strong hands and the hot water will work Hank until he’s loose enough to not get up again, even if he brings his legs back. That’s what he wants, Hank deserves to relax.

He can sweep his hands down the heavy length of Hank’s tail and feel the strength there, can dig into the muscle to ease any of Hank’s soreness. He traces a few of the gray scales before he leans over to one of the jars off to the side, reaching into it for one of the sea sponges he’d asked for. With a small dip into the water, he sets to buffing the scales with a learned precision, fondly admiring the iridescent blue-gold shift of them. Hank’s whole tail shivers and goosebumps raise on his arms, a shaky sigh hisses from his lips, “Oh, Connor. What do you have? That feels…”

“A nice sea sponge to help things along.” he murmurs, feeling no need to look up as he keeps going. He enjoys the way Hank sounds, the way Hank seeks out his hands if he moves them away. Gradually, he works his way down, encouraging Hank to turn and shift to his whim. 

The fins flutter at his touch, paper thin and otherworldly beautiful. They’re soft like cartilage and he uses the pads of his fingers to caress them. He hears Hank give a chuckle of contentment. Hank’s tail gets thinner and thinner as it goes down - he’s very glad he got the nine foot pool to keep him all in here - and the fin at the end is much more powerful than those soft stabilizing fins. Where those are somewhat translucent, this one is more milky in its opacity before fading the longer out the tendrils go. The first thing Hank does when Connor gets his hands on it is wiggle out of his grasp and give him a gentle smack to the chest, cresting up water.

“And what was that for?” he grins, wiping droplets of water from his face. “Ticklish all of a sudden?”

The ends of Hank’s tail try dipping to wrap around his thigh, but Connor muffles a laugh and brings them back from between his legs. Hank huffs, “You’re spending too much time on me.”

“I’m spending all the time I want on you.” he soothes, petting over the bulk of the fin before he’s moving back up towards Hank’s reddening face. He leans down to press a few kisses at his tail, scales that have little speckles on them like Connor’s body does scattered with freckles.

Hank’s fingers settle over his, bringing his movements to a gentle halt. “Come here, sweetheart.”

Connor glides back over and those strong arms pull him to Hank’s chest, hand textured like water-roughened wrinkles and the subtle coarseness of sand, guides his thigh up and over until Connor’s again straddling the incredible heat of Hank’s lap. He lets his legs drift out behind him as Hank slips lower into the water, blanketing his body over Hank’s as they float. It’s a special sort of bliss, every time they do this. Whether it’s like this, in a manmade structure or out in the open ocean, Connor’s mind gradually slows to lazy waves and his body goes pliant to move with every shift. Hank’s told him how impressive it is, to let himself go like that when he thought it was in Connor’s human nature to be alert around something that could be dangerous like water can. But Connor could fall asleep at sea now, if Hank’s there as his tether. He can feel his eyes wanting to shut at the calm it brings him, the intimacy, and when Hank angles his head up for a kiss, he goes without any issue.

The slow drag of Hank’s wet lips is easily one of his favorite things, the deep pull of want and reverence skitters down his body like a heatwave. Hank’s fingers squeeze at his lower back and his tongue is rough when it slips through Connor’s parted lips. He thinks he makes a sound, one low and yearning, because Hank makes one back, body arching up against him. The feeling swoops low in his gut and he pushes into it, his own tongue teasing at the edges of Hank’s sharper teeth.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Hank whispers heavily between them, breath hitching when Connor sucks on his lower lip.

“You’re no fun.” He presses a messy kiss to the corner of Hank’s mouth, just at the edge of his mustache.

Hank’s hand slips to his ass, his big palm finding purchase. He slides his mouth over Connor’s throat while his tail wraps around Connor’s thigh, drawing him closer. “Honey, I’ve got a lot of fun in me, don’t you worry yourself about that.”

Connor groans quietly at the first slide of their hips together, pinned against him just like he craves the most. Hank’s already excited, the slit at the front of his tail open and so slick when Connor’s cock grinds against it. Hank feels the word “ _fuck_ ” rumble in Connor’s throat and he laughs as he mouths at the flushed hollow there, “Think touching me all over isn’t gonna start somethin’ up, baby?”

“Oh, I’d only hoped so.” he breathes, swaying into Hank’s textured tongue and drawing his fingers over the plush of Hank’s side.

“What are you gonna do with it, now that you’ve gotten your wish?” Hank’s teeth nip at the hinge of his jaw and his voice shivers along Connor’s skin. “I’ve got my own hopes.”

“What do you want?” He brings his face to Hank’s, peppering his lover with lingering kisses. He presses his hips down and rocks, so they can both feel his cock hardening against Hank’s slit. The ache to move simmers hotter with each pulse beneath his skin, to make Hank’s breath stutter and guide his pleasure. Both of Hank’s hands grab at his ass, dragging him in for another pass; two, then three. Their breaths turn heavier in the space between them. “You get to choose, anything you want.”

“Connor.” He can feel Hank shiver underneath him, leaning up to brush their mouths. Hank’s hand slides between them, fingers dipping into his slit with a small gasp. “It’s been a while since I saw you seated right full…”

The wave of flourishing heat hits him low in the gut, goosebumps prickling along his arms and legs. He captures Hank’s mouth with a groan, pushing up enough to squeeze his thighs at Hank’s hips. He stabilizes himself with a hand at the front of Hank’s tail, over the space where an old scar keeps the scales from growing back, his palm fitting against the thick speckled skin. He rubs at it soothingly, taking a moment to look over Hank with all the fondness he holds for him. Red cheeks, hair pushed back, two fingers pressed inside himself. Looking back up at Connor with that haze in his eyes, trying to lean in search of another kiss.

“I wouldn’t want you to forget what that looks like,” he says, voice hushed with excitement. He gently takes Hank’s wrist and guides his hand away, replacing it with his own as Hank greedily tugs him close to suck a mark into his neck.

Hank’s body pulls his fingers in, the heat of him incredible. He watches Hank roll into his touch, watches how slick his fingers are getting as he thrusts them shallowly, always reluctant to let him slip out. The grip at the back of his neck turns tighter as Hank moans, “Ah, there’s those long fingers… Yeah, that’s it…”

He rocks his fingers in deep and forward, finding the underside of Hank’s cock. Hank lets out a shaky grunt when Connor starts to rub and press against it, coaxing it out of its sheath into the open. Connor never gets tired of making it happen, seeing the entirely smooth tip drag wet along his hand and the full thickness of Hank’s cock reveal itself. His own cock twitches as he slips his fingers around it. Soft hilled curves along the top, until a slight swell at the midpoint to base. Four fleshy, broad scale shapes sit layered on the underside, giving girth enough to droop the appendage forward, before it goes smooth the rest of the way down.

It leaves a sloped appearance, bulbous on the underside until the halfway point and then swelled at the upside as it meets the rest of his body. Connor has to swallow back the saliva that floods his mouth, knowing how well it fits inside him to play with his prostate. He strokes it in a gentle hand, those curved ridges bumping and sliding against his fingers. The contrast in color is a marvel, a soft fleshy pink that has some kind of gray undertone, much more like Hank’s tail than his human half’s skin. He traces each of the soft layers on the underside with his thumb, and Hank groans as his cock pulses and slickens all over. He’s so sensitive, it makes it easy for Connor to ring pleasure from him every time.

“You gonna play with it for much longer?” he breathes, not entirely used to even half of his cock in open air. They’ve only done it non-submerged two other times when he didn't have his legs, and he thinks the air makes it more sensitive to touch. He can feel the slickness of himself differently. He palms at Connor’s ass and uses his own fluids to rub against Connor’s hole, hoping to set him back on course.

Connor’s eyes roll back, pressing into the texture of Hank’s fingers just as one starts slipping in. He blows out a heavy breath and lines his cock up with Hank’s, rubbing them together. “You know I can’t help it, you’re too fun not to handle.”

He kisses Hank again before there’s any comeback, leaning forward so Hank can sink them a little. It’s a special kind of aroused spike feeling every time Hank’s fluids don’t just dissipate in the water, an extra feeling of being doubly wet and just a little dirty, hot and slick and marked. Hank’s free hand draws up along his back like he wants them to melt together, the deeply passionate press of their mouths feverish with want. The fingers he’s working into Connor aim directly for pleasure and more to just get him used to being touched than anything else. Connor always opens up for him so beautifully and he’s wet enough for the both of them to ease the way. He loves how Connor’s hips jerk forward when the pads of his fingers zone in on his prostate, the way he bears down into it recklessly because it just feels so good.

“Fuck, Hank.” Connor hisses, shamelessly rocking backwards onto Hank’s fingers and forward against his cock, hand no longer wrapping around but flat against them for something to grind into.

Hank nips at his chin and chuckles breathily when his lover gasps from the sting, “You wanna hop on, honey?”

Connor’s groan hums low from his throat and he drops their foreheads together, rising up off Hank’s fingers. “Fuck— yeah, help me here.” He tries to get more leverage and Hank grasps him at the waist, stabilizing him the little bit he needs to guide Hank’s cock into him. They let out a harsh breath in tandem, that first swoop of pleasure coursing through. Hank’s fins thrash at the end of the tub but he does his best to stay still, letting his human take the lead just as he has the rest of the day.

Once Connor’s braced himself in a combined effort of squeezing his thighs and balancing on Hank’s chest, he lets himself slowly slide down. A shudder wracks his body when he makes it past the first girthy slope, and Hank lets go of his waist with one hand to cup his cock and balls up out of the way, watching easier as his lover envelopes him. “Oh, Connor. Just like that, take it slow.”

Connor flexes his thighs, gently rocking on what he has. The feeling of each of those upper ridges moving inside him is dizzying, sending heat up his spine. Hank makes a sharply cut off noise and his tail shivers— another pulse of slick eases the way. Connor chokes out a moan, rocks down over the second slope and right home, so overwhelming full for a hazy moment. Hank’s gentle hands pet down his back, over his tense thighs, around to his stomach and chest. When Hank takes him by the jaw for a tender kiss, Connor falls into it. The murmurs of praise get pressed into his mouth alongside Hank’s tongue and the dull, pulsing euphoria thrums throughout his body. Hank's groan shakes when he starts to move, the low rocking that brings them apart and together like waves.

Hank feels lucky. Connor always treats him so well, thinking of Hank's pleasure as much as his own. Sometimes much more than his own— Hank thinks he’s got a _thing_ for that sort of devotion. He's made Hank feel things he'd forgotten, indulged him when their species gap was a little too confusing at times. Hank rolls his hips up the way he knows Connor likes. He wants to make his human feel as good as he makes Hank feel.

They try not to be too loud, muffling their groans and gasps into each other’s mouths or adorning wet patches of skin with the sound and the press of teeth. But they’re used to being on the open ocean, most of the time very far from anyone who would really care about the noise, so it’s more of a struggle than originally thought. A few times there are footsteps or far off conversation outside their room; that’s when they pause for a moment, rocking together, sharing elated laughter as they hold each other. Through the steam, the glow of Hank’s tail is pulsing, and the light strikes Connor’s features so beautifully. Hank looks up at him in the inches of space between their faces, reverent, coiled with heat and want and excitement. Connor runs his fingers through Hank’s hair, a small intricate braid slotting in the spaces between his fingers with other damp strands, and thinks how he would wish to sit suspended in this moment, breathing the same air as his lover, for a very long time. But then Hank smiles at him, and kisses him with so much love he can feel it in his bones— when the next moment feels like that, he’s happy to keep searching for more.

Hank’s hands splayed wide over his back and around his hips leave a searing heat that just fuels Connor to move with abandon, the shaking sounds of pleasure that tumble from Hank’s mouth crackle up his spine and cause a feeling all their own. They sink a little more into the water and Connor can get his knees on the floor, can lean back with Hank’s tail as an anchor for just that right spot. It always leaves him a little overwhelmed, thighs quivering and arms too, something white-hot and almost the prickly side of too much. The noise out of his mouth is much too loud but he had no hope of muffling it anyway, and he watches Hank’s eyes roll back as he slips fully under the water. Connor pulls himself forward again with a breathless laugh, bracing his hand on the edge of the tub to look down at Hank’s wavering form.

He’s gorgeous. Head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut like he does when he’s nearing the end, the faint marks in the shape of Connor’s mouth on his bared throat. Any moan he gives doesn’t make much sound, but Connor can swear he almost feels it vibrating the water around them. His own fingers tremble as he feels himself getting close, reaching that precipice faster with each thrust— and when he reaches down to take himself in hand, Hank is already there. He braces himself when he bows forward, hand over his mouth when his orgasm floods through him. He doesn’t think he’s loud but at that point he’s done caring about much other than the feeling of fucking into Hank’s hand and the thickness of Hank inside of him.

The spasm from Hank’s tail almost bucks him off halfway through, and in the whole line of Hank’s body he feels his lover crash over the edge, too. He sucks in a deep breath and leans down into the water, finding Hank’s open mouth for a kiss. All he can hear is the blood rushing in his ears and the otherworldly ring of Hank’s groans. For a moment it’s a blind euphoria.

Hank is the one that brings them back above water, clutching Connor to him with both arms. Murmuring his name between moans, kissing his cheeks and chin and the bridge of his nose as Connor gasps in a new breath. Hank’s orgasms are prolonged, something Connor didn’t realize at first and then absolutely basked in every time after that. Now, he gently rocks and hitches his hips against Hank’s while they pant against each other’s dripping skin, Hank whispering and shaking and fucking up into him tenderly. He thinks Hank sometimes gets hazy in this stretch of time, feeling the waves crashing over him and embraced by a lover who won’t let him drift too far away. The glow of his tail stutters like uneven breath and his words aren’t always formed, and Connor moves with him through it, so goddamn in love.

Within a few minutes, Hank’s body relaxes into the even longer aftershocks. Connor sweetly kisses the corner of his mouth, brushing the hairs of his mustache with his thumb. “There we go. Was that good, Captain?”

Hank just huffs a breath and buries his face in his lover’s neck, layering gentle kisses into the wet skin. They both give a small grunt when Hank’s cock slowly recedes back into his sheath, and he pets soothingly at Connor’s lower back. They sway there softly in the little waves they’ve made, giving their hearts a chance to calm. When Connor leans over, Hank goes too, and he pours something from a long necked bottle that has bubbles clinging to the glass. Hank turns his head to lazily watch the red-plum colored syrup filter through the cracks of half-melted ice that Connor adds next, and then does the customary sip before offering it to Hank. He finds it endearing, like he’s making sure it’s good enough to pass Hank’s lips.

They trade it back and forth until it’s finished, and Connor immediately makes another as he slips off Hank’s lap to float on his own. Those long fins find his calf and tether him before he’s really gone and he gives Hank a red-cheeked, lazy smile. Hank laughs tiredly from his belly, “I don’t think I can move more than that.”

“Good. That was my plan all along.” Connor grins, resting his head on the soft rocks. He runs his hand down over his hip and softening cock with a satisfied sigh. He can feel a little soreness ebbing there, he went a little too wild but it’s nothing he didn’t enthusiastically earn. Hank’s hand finds his inner thigh, pressing to massage the muscle.

“Doesn’t seem like you’re jumping around, either,” he hums, and Connor just spreads his legs for him, enticing his tail further up his calf. His smile widens, “Maybe you need to take it easy. A little relaxation.”

“Hank.” Connor chuckles around the rim of his glass, taking another long drink.

Hank watches his throat bob and droplets of water run down his collar. He presses his thumb into the soft skin at the crease of Connor’s thigh, “Some time in bed, maybe.”

Connor bites down on a piece of ice and peers suspiciously over his glass at Hank, looking like a dream swaying there in the hot water. “Anyone that says I’m insatiable owes me money to take care of my poor, aching human body.”

With a laugh, Hank pulls him close against his side and presses a kiss to his temple, then his cheek. “I owe you dinner,” he whispers, licking some syrup off Connor’s reddened lips, “And a whole lot more.”

“Mm, dinner,” he mumbles around a closed-mouth peck, “We should get dinner.”

“Two dinners, maybe.” Hank murmurs back, occupied adorning him with gentle kisses. “Can we get gravlax before we go? It’ll be so good, I’ll serve it to you in bed.”

Connor hums, rubbing over the hair on Hank’s chest before taking another sip from his drink. “That’s cured…?”

“Salmon.” Hank reminds, mouthing tenderly over a red mark on his lover’s neck.

“Salmon,” he echoes, feeling contentment washing over him in long pulls. He nods distantly, gathering Hank closer to him, “As soon as one of us can get up again.”

Hank agrees wholeheartedly. They drain both pitchers left for them and find it in their thoroughly worked muscles to wash up. Hank’s so content that he doesn’t want to leave, but he coos as he kisses Connor’s wrinkling fingers and pulls himself from the waters anyway. His legs are still unsteady when they walk back out onto the street, cocooned by the lingering warmth of their fresh clothes. Hank wrangles them beef burgers because he knows it’ll be a nice respite from all the fish he’s been filling Connor’s diet with. They'll stock up on fruits and greens tomorrow, along with Hank's coveted cured salmon, but for now they tuck into their fluffy shared bed in the captain's quarters. Hank feeds Connor salty potato wedges and kisses the lingering taste of his lips, until they've had their fill and they're both hungry again in a different way. They don't try to hush themselves this time, probably much to the dismay or pleasure of the boats on either side of theirs.

**Author's Note:**

> [Here is Sana's tweet with her wonderful, mood-lit art piece 🌊](https://twitter.com/bigDBHenergy/status/1317951343601111040)
> 
> [The Mermay Collection 🐚](https://twitter.com/i/events/1259999563940876289)


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